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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27333454">Fakeout</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/SolarMorrigan/pseuds/SolarMorrigan'>SolarMorrigan</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Milo Murphy's Law</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>M/M, ah the 'quick make out with me so the bad guys don't find us' trope, classic, with the inspired title a fic of this caliber deserves</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 23:29:50</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,431</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27333454</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/SolarMorrigan/pseuds/SolarMorrigan</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“C’mere,” Dakota whispered, digging his fingers into one lapel of Cavendish’s jacket and tugging him near. “Kiss me, quick.”</i>
</p>
<p>“I beg your pardon?” <i>Cavendish spluttered.</i></p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Balthazar Cavendish/Vinnie Dakota</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>108</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Fakeout</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Look.</p>
<p>Look, in my defense, I hail from a spy fandom and every fandom that has secret agents of some kind needs a fake make out fic. It's a rule. And I hadn't seen any when I wrote this (like, almost two years ago now), so here you guys go</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“C’mere,” Dakota whispered, digging his fingers into one lapel of Cavendish’s jacket and tugging him near. “Kiss me, quick.”</p>
<p><em>“I beg your pardon?”</em> Cavendish spluttered, jerking back almost—but not quite—hard enough to dislodge Dakota’s grip.</p>
<p>Dakota had made strange requests of Cavendish before; time travel often required quick and creative thinking, and Cavendish was a big enough man to admit that Dakota at least had more experience in the field. Occasionally, his ideas were good, and they had benefited from following them in the past.</p>
<p>Occasionally, however, they were ridiculous and had led to even more confusing situations than the one they had already been in.</p>
<p>In this case, Cavendish failed to see how <em>kissing Dakota</em> was going to in any way improve their current predicament – which was: about to be spotted by a team of security guards who were trying to capture them for the partial destruction of the pistachio packaging factory they had snuck into.</p>
<p>(They weren’t actually responsible for its destruction, mind; they had been trying to ensure the safe shipment of the packaged pistachios and had been in the very wrong place and the very wrong time, as seemed to be their habit.)</p>
<p>“You got a better idea? This is a dead end, we got nowhere to hide,” Dakota gestured around the sparse alley they’d mistakenly turned down; there wasn’t much more than a couple of small garbage cans, a locked fire exit leading to a bar that wasn’t even open this early in the day, and a few pieces of rubbish littering the ground. “Kiss me, pretend like you’re really into it, they’ll overlook us entirely.”</p>
<p>Oh. Well, that made a <em>sort</em> of sense, Cavendish supposed. He bit his lip, glancing at the mouth of the alley. “Are you sure we can’t just–”</p>
<p>A rough voice echoed down towards them, accompanied by the pounding of heavy boots on pavement. “I saw them go this way! Down this street!”</p>
<p>Out of time.</p>
<p>Without leaving room for any more indecision, Cavendish leaned down and pressed his mouth to Dakota’s perhaps a little harder than he really meant to. Dakota didn’t seem to mind; he gripped Cavendish’s other lapel with his free hand and tugged Cavendish closer, no doubt wrinkling the fabric beyond decency.</p>
<p>Cavendish’s instinctive reaction was to reprimand Dakota for the grievous treatment of his clothing, but the admonishment came out as a muffled sort of groan against Dakota’s lips. The sound Dakota made in response sounded suspiciously like laughter, pushing Cavendish’s irritation higher.</p>
<p>He couldn’t pull back and complain now, couldn’t risk ruining their distraction, but he could– how did Dakota put it? “Pretend like he was really into it?”</p>
<p>Two could play at this game.</p>
<p>With likely more force than was really called for, Cavendish placed his palms flat on Dakota’s chest and shoved.</p>
<p>They disconnected momentarily as Dakota’s back met the rough brick wall of the alleyway, a surprised “oof” forced past his lips, but then Cavendish was on him again, slotting their mouths together with eagerness (entirely falsified, of course).</p>
<p>Dakota’s fingers, having never quite lost their grip on Cavendish’s lapels, tightened and tugged, until Cavendish was chest to chest with him, almost pressing him bodily into the wall.</p>
<p>Well, if <em>that</em> was how Dakota wanted to do things.</p>
<p>Searching for a good handhold, Cavendish put his hands on Dakota’s shoulders, before they roamed up into his hair. Cavendish carded his fingers through thick curls, cupping the back of Dakota’s head (hair could be a distinguishing feature, after all; best to obscure it from view, lest they be recognized). Then, for added punch, and because he could feel Dakota struggling with a smirk (he couldn’t feel it physically so much as he could mentally; he’d developed a sixth sense for knowing when Dakota was teasing him), he opened his mouth and pressed his tongue to the seam of Dakota’s lips.</p>
<p>Pretend like he was into it, indeed!</p>
<p>For a brief moment, Dakota froze, stiffening up beneath Cavendish, but Cavendish only got halfway through wondering if he’d pushed too far, distraction or no, before Dakota opened up to him.</p>
<p>He reached up and wrapped his arms around Cavendish’s waist, as if to hold him there (as if Cavendish weren’t still anchoring himself to Dakota with two hands tangled in his hair), and opened his mouth, teasing Cavendish’s tongue in with his own.</p>
<p>Cavendish rather lost the thread of things after that.</p>
<p>Whatever doubts he’d had about the viability of this distraction before were assuaged. This was an excellent distraction – <em>he</em> was certainly distracted. In fact, he remained so until Dakota groaned into his mouth and startled him back to reality.</p>
<p>With the slick sound of parting lips, Cavendish pulled back from Dakota, panting for breath.</p>
<p>“Are they…” Cavendish’s voice was rougher than he had anticipated, and he broke off to clear his throat. “Are they gone?”</p>
<p>“Huh?” Behind the tinted lenses of his glasses, Dakota’s gaze was a bit unfocused, his lips still dark and shining in the low light of the alley; the picture he made was unfairly inviting.</p>
<p>(Cavendish allowed himself this observation because, well – he was only human, and he could admit that certain things appealed.)</p>
<p>“The guards. Have they gone?” Cavendish asked again.</p>
<p>“Oh. Oh! Yeah, no, they went by a minute ago,” Dakota assured him.</p>
<p><em>“What?”</em> Cavendish reared back, finally successfully removing himself from Dakota’s space. “Why didn’t you <em>say something?”</em></p>
<p>“I mean, I woulda, but my tongue was otherwise occupied,” Dakota said, giving Cavendish a playful wink. “Y’know? ‘cause you–”</p>
<p>“Unbelievable!” Cavendish snapped, throwing his arms up in vexation.</p>
<p>“What? <em>I’m</em> not the one who escalated stuff,” Dakota pointed out.</p>
<p><em>“I</em> was doing as <em>you</em> suggested,” Cavendish sniffed. “’Pretending to be into it.’”</p>
<p>Dakota opened his mouth, closed it again, then grinned. It sat oddly on his face, not quite right in a way Cavendish was entirely unable to put his finger on.</p>
<p>“Well, all in the name of the mission, right?” Dakota asked. “No biggie.”</p>
<p>Something was still off, but for the life of him, Cavendish couldn’t quite figure out what. Dakota, for all he was one of the most open and laid-back people Cavendish had ever crossed paths with (and he didn’t mean that in an entirely flattering way), could be devilishly hard to read at times.</p>
<p>Besides, Cavendish knew an out when he saw one.</p>
<p>“Right. Precisely. And I will admit, your distraction technique worked quite well.” Cavendish nodded to Dakota. “Unconventional as it was.”</p>
<p>Dakota’s grin shifted, becoming more like what Cavendish was used to. “I got my share of good ideas.”</p>
<p>Cavendish only gave a vague “hm” in response; maybe Dakota did have his share of good ideas, but it wouldn’t do to let him know.</p>
<p>“Well, I suppose we’ll need to report in to Mr. Block,” Cavendish sighed. “Let him know we were unsuccessful. Again.”</p>
<p>“Eh, Mr. Block can wait a bit.” Dakota shrugged, a fluid and familiar rolling of his shoulders. “I don’t know about you, but I’m starving. How about we get lunch?”</p>
<p>“It’s barely 11 o’ clock,” Cavendish couldn’t help but point out, one part knee-jerk argument and one part relief to be drifting further from the topic of what had transpired in the alleyway.</p>
<p>“Places start serving lunch at 11. C’mon, if you stop arguing, I’ll let you pick.” Dakota brushed past Cavendish and out onto the street, gesturing for his partner to follow.</p>
<p>“That was hardly arguing–”</p>
<p>“Sounded like arguing to me.”</p>
<p>“Fine,” Cavendish huffed. “I want Italian.”</p>
<p>“Sounds good. Hey, d’you remember where we parked?” Dakota asked as he dug around in the pocket of his track pants for the keys.</p>
<p>“Did you <em>forget?”</em></p>
<p>“No. No, I did not. I’m just not 100% sure where we are exactly right now. In relation to the car.”</p>
<p>They fell back into bickering with ease, and Cavendish was glad; it was familiar and safe, and made it easy to forget whatever he had been feeling earlier, regarding Dakota and their faux-amorous liaison. There would be time to consider it later, if he so wished. Much later, after having lunch, and reporting to Mr. Block, and filing their reports, and getting some sleep, and whatever mission they next undertook.</p>
<p>Or maybe Cavendish could just consider it never.</p>
<p>(Or maybe he could consider it during lunch, trying hard not to blush, because the Italian place served cannolis, and Dakota apparently adored cannolis, and apparently licked the cream off his fingers without self-consciousness or awareness of how flustered Cavendish was becoming, and–</p>
<p>Cavendish would definitely have to consider it later.)</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I'm also on <a href="https://solarmorrigan.tumblr.com/">Tumblr</a></p></blockquote></div></div>
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